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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25638655">Devi</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/quagmireisadora/pseuds/quagmireisadora'>quagmireisadora</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>K-pop, SHINee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Mythology, Dream Sex, F/M, Married Couple, Other, Pegging, Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:16:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,780</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25638655</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/quagmireisadora/pseuds/quagmireisadora</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“They say in some cultures that a daughter being born in the house means the goddess has come to bless the family with wealth and good fortune,” Choi eomoni speaks in a conspiratorial tone, her grin wide. “So I am hoping for a grand-daughter!” she waves crossed fingers.</p><p>“Ay, I told you we’re having a son,” Minjung giggles at her mother.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Choi Minjung/Lee Jinki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Devi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p class="fontbae">
  <span class="font-red">This is written for unclaimed prompt #311 from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Summer_of_SHINee_2020">Summer of Shinee 2020</a>: "Jinki and Minjung have been in a stable relationship for years. They are pretty content and satisfied with what they have: a deep connection, love for each other, a good balance, an ordinary but pleasing sex life. But one day, while using their shared pc, Minjung casually discovers that his husband has been researching one thing: pegging. Jnki has in fact stumbled across this practice and gotten increasingly curious about it and, to be honest, Minjung doesn't mind obliging him." Credit to the prompter.</span>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr class="hr4"/><p class="fontbae"> </p><p class="fontbae">“Ah… so hot!” Minjung whines.</p><p class="fontbae">In the five years they’ve been together, Jinki has never once felt like this. Of course, she’s an attractive woman. Her legs are long, her lashes are lush, her cheeks are pink and her lips are full. There’s no doubt that Minjung is a beautiful woman. But something about all this makes her more irresistible than she has ever been in his eyes.</p><p class="fontbae">He looks up at her from the floor, massaging her calf between his hands. “Better?” he asks and places a kiss on her knee when she whines again, turning the table fan on high. It could be the fact that this summer is making him delirious, or the fact that he sees more of her now that he works half the week from home. Or it could be that she’s been growing their child inside her for the past seven months. </p><p class="fontbae">He massages the other leg and then rests his chin in her lap. “What do you feel like eating?” he smiles. “Something spicy again?”</p><p class="fontbae">“Mm… eomma said that’s not good for me,” she pouts, running her hand through his hair. The sun is bright behind drawn curtains. The whirring of the fan’s motor is a low hum. It’s been a slow Saturday morning. He feels peaceful, feels like closing his eyes and falling asleep in his place. “I mean… it’s not like I can help it, can I? I just want what I want,” she continues to defend her lengthy dysgeusia as she caresses the side of his head.</p><p class="fontbae">Jinki hums in the same tone as the table fan, long and soft.</p><p class="fontbae">The apartment is now completely slip-resistant and alcohol-free. Sharp corners have been made blunt and the furniture has been swathed in plastic. He feels like something big has changed in him as well. As if  he’s growing something in his belly too. He can’t give it a name or a face. He can’t label it with anything within the extent of his vocabulary. But he knows it comes from being so close to Minjung.</p><p class="fontbae">For all his desire, he can’t do anything besides wait. <em> Doctor’s orders</em>, she reminds him with a sweet and apologetic smile whenever he hugs her from behind or sits by her bathtub or breathes in the crook of her neck. Doctor’s orders. The baby comes first—and he agrees. That’s more important to him.</p><p class="fontbae">It still remains. If Minjung made him feel wild before, she only makes him worse now. </p><p class="fontbae">Some nights he watches her as she sleepily pulls on a loose and thin gown. It stretches around her belly and one of the straps keeps sliding off her shoulder. The skin of her thighs and hips stretches too, leaving long and thick stripes of smoothness in its wake. <em> Tiger stripes</em>, he jokingly calls them when he traces his fingers along their lengths. He wants to kiss each and every one, wants to trace them with his tongue instead. He wants to leave other marks on her that will tell the story of what she means to him.</p><p class="fontbae">But he must wait. So he does.</p><p> </p>
<hr class="hr4"/><p> </p><p class="fontbae">He’s always thought it’s an illness. A thick fever rises whenever he wakes up to Minjung standing in the living room, the bun of her hair dripping water and the curves of her eyes closed as she faces the large sliders leading out to the balcony. He’s always thought there was something wrong with him, the way he feels as he watches her doing something as innocuous as running through her usual exercises. He always thinks he gets far too excited as he listens to her practiced breath. </p><p class="fontbae">She colors him red with heat when she notices him and smiles, beckoning for him to join her. She makes him feel faint when he gets closer, catching a whiff of her scent. Flowers. Powder. Even milk.</p><p class="fontbae">The twin wet patches on her front are like reminders. They take him back to the times he has held her in the same place, squeezed her and teased her and bitten into her flesh. He is reminded of how soft she feels, how warm she gets, how she sounds when he is inside her. He is reminded of everything forbidden to him now and just like that, his shower is going to be lengthier and colder than usual. </p><p class="fontbae">As he leaves for work that day, he hugs her longer than necessary. He drinks in the smell of her skin and she swats him, telling him he’ll be late. He knows, he replies. He knows, he does. But he can’t help it. The illness swims through his veins like a snake, starting from his atria, poisoning his every cell, and then returning to his ventricles where it sinks in its fangs one last time and resides permanently. Incurable. </p><p class="fontbae">He sits through meetings full of statistics, sits through a lunch table full of banter. He sits at his desk and pretends that his mind is busy at work but his thoughts are always stuck at home. He checks his phone too often, thinks of calling every chance he gets. He’s easily distracted when she <b>does </b>text with something as simple as, “did you eat?” or “can you pick up some milk on the way home?” </p><p class="fontbae">“Feel like eating something special?” he ends up ringing her from the office roof. “Something sweet or something sour?” he teases.</p><p class="fontbae">“I told you it’s a boy,” Minjung plays along. “Mm, but today I feel like spicy octopus.”</p><p class="fontbae">“Really?” he hums. “You never liked it before.”</p><p class="fontbae">“It’s not me, it’s the little one,” he hears a smile in her voice. </p><p class="fontbae">“And you won’t just take one bite and throw the rest out?” he asks. “Like when I got you that soondaeguk?”</p><p class="fontbae">She whines, and he hears the faint thump of stamping feet. “Oppa! I told you I can’t help it, why don’t you—?!”</p><p class="fontbae">“OK, OK, I’m sorry, I’ll get exactly what you want,” he chuckles.</p><p class="fontbae">The image of her as she opens the door to him while speaking with a coworker, the way she smiles and mouths something to him as she points towards the kitchen, the way her laugh is a snicker that grows louder and louder, the way her cheeks flush when she is grinning so wide it must make her face numb… Jinki only goes to work so he can come back to something like that. The only reason he leaves the apartment to go anywhere at all, is because returning means seeing Minjung look at him like that. </p><p class="fontbae">He wonders why a thirty-year-old man like him is reverting to his hormone-fueled teens. He wonders if other men feel like him, wonders if this is common and if there’s a cure. He searches through blogs and forums online for answers, trying to ease his nerves. </p><p class="fontbae">“Just over a month now, huh?” one of his colleagues asks during a coffee break, prompting him to hide his phone from view. </p><p class="fontbae">“Mm,” he nods and sips, saying no more. </p><p class="fontbae">“Wah… Jinki ssi. You’re moving through life so easily, eh? I wish I knew how you keep so calm...” The compliment is empty. There is nothing easy about any of this. When they came home from the hospital after the first sonography, Jinki had felt more anxiety than surprise. It wasn’t that the news was unexpected—they’d been trying for some time before it finally happened. Minjung has always wanted children, a family. This certainly didn’t come out of the blue. </p><p class="fontbae">Lee eomoni attributes his unease to the thought of being a father, and to a certain extent, he agrees. The idea that they must now raise a whole human being is a little daunting. He’s never been good with kids. In fact, he doubts he even knows how to hold one the right way, much less care for one. So he buys and reads every book he can find on the subject. He prepares himself for a lifelong exam, one that tests his intelligence, his endurance, his speed, his patience. His everything. He studies day and night out of apprehension.</p><p class="fontbae">It's the best distraction from all his other thoughts.</p><p class="fontbae">Because he knows the mass of his anxiety sits in the fact that Minjung won’t be purely his anymore. Her time will be split, her energy will be siphoned. He will have to share her with their baby. Already does, in fact. They are always together, they are always with each other. They are physically connected, and emotionally dependent on one another. He will never come close to knowing what that feels like, no matter how long he spends at home with her. With them.</p><p class="fontbae">There is nothing in the books to tell him his separation anxiety is baseless. After all, they aren’t separated. They still live in the same house, talk about the same things—and when Minjung borrows his shirts from time to time, he feels a sense of accomplishment that they still wear the same clothes. They are not separated by any stretch of the imagination. But they are not Jinki and Minjung anymore. The distance between them grows in time with their child.</p><p> </p>
<hr class="hr4"/><p> </p><p class="fontbae">Sometimes his internet searches go into strange territory. </p><p class="fontbae">Jinki reasons to himself that the internet is just a maze, a rabbit hole that sucks you in and makes you lose your sense of judgement. He calls it another symptom of his illness. He calls it a side-effect of the summer heat. He calls it all kinds of things, but they’re just excuses. He runs his searches then erases them from the browser history forever. He hopes forever… it would be too shameful if someone were to catch him.</p><p class="fontbae">He can’t help it. It rises from a curious thought that converts into a series of quickly typed out keywords, several questionably-named websites, and then a series of shocked gasps in the silence of their study room.</p><p class="fontbae">Jinki isn’t a prude but he isn’t some kind of… <em>pervert</em> either, he tries to convince himself. He hopes he’s not. </p><p class="fontbae">Then again, his brain has lately taken to giving him turbulent dreams of Minjung. Most he forgets, some he remembers. A few he mixes with memories of her under him or against him or between him and a wall. All end with him groaning into his pillow with want.</p><p class="fontbae">She comes to him in his sleep, dressed in the softest sweaters or pinkest lace. She crawls and swims and wraps her limbs around him. Her hair floats around her head or tangles between his fingers or fills his vision entirely. Her eyes change, become sharper and brighter, silently casting spells on him. She calls for him, calls for more, begs for more. She shudders as if possessed. She bites her lip and lets out hisses. She arches and ululates like they are not themselves, but a pair of wild magical beings performing a sacred rite.   </p><p class="fontbae">What must it feel like, he wonders one morning. What must it be like to be a woman? When he trudges out of bed and finds her in her usual spot in the middle of the living room, stretching her arms up to the sky, he silently asks what must Minjung feel like? To be so full, to be so perfect that being inside her made Jinki feel complete too; to be so consummate that being apart from her makes him question his sanity. What must it feel like to be so beautiful, so tantalising, so addictive? What would it be like to move in her body and carry her grace? What would it be to—</p><p class="fontbae">“O-oh! Oppa!” Minjung half-screams, clutching at her belly.</p><p class="fontbae">“What’s wrong?” he rushes over and examines her. </p><p class="fontbae">“K-kicking…!” she flushes and tears up. A sign of more pain than she’s willing to admit, he’s come to learn. </p><p class="fontbae">“It’s nothing,” he hushes and shakes his head, places his hands over hers. “It’s OK, it’s nothing.” He kneels in front of her and speaks softly to her navel. “It’s OK, little one. We know you’re in there, we remember. Come out, and then we’ll talk, OK? There’s so much we want to tell you. Come soon, so we can see you.” He gives Minjung a reassuring smile even as she sniffs and tightens her fingers around his wrists. </p><p class="fontbae">What must it feel like to be fragile and strong at the same time?</p><p class="fontbae">These questions lead him down a path of weird ideas and suggestions from absolute strangers. They don’t answer anything, they don’t give him any definite resolutions or remedies. But he follows them anyway. The internet is just a maze, a rabbit hole that sucks you in and makes you lose your sense of judgement. And Jinki willingly loses it.</p><p class="fontbae">He clicks on the links. He watches the videos. He reads the descriptions and comments. He trawls through related posts, looks for the ones that are slow and careful in their explanation of this strange phenomenon. He looks for the ones that are gentle. He looks for the ones where performance could be mistaken for affection. Parenting books forgotten, he studies the most recent entries and works his way down the list. And eventually, after a few crazed weeks and thousands of searches, he starts imagining himself being on camera.</p><p> </p>
<hr class="hr4"/><p> </p><p class="fontbae">At the community pool, people stare at the large woman and her shorter, chirpier sidekick. Jinki comes along and cheers at her from the side, swimming a few laps with her in the end. Some of the little kids paddle over with curiosity and Minjung lets them touch her belly, but their parents are a different matter. Jinki fields their chit-chat and gossip to be polite but when they start prying, he makes his disinterest abundantly clear. </p><p class="fontbae">“I don’t like this time slot,” Minjung murmurs in a child-like way, adjusting her wetsuit. “People stare…”</p><p class="fontbae">“You know why they stare?” Jinki helps her with the zip.</p><p class="fontbae">“Because I’m fat,” Minjung’s pout gets even cuter and he chuckles, leaning in to kiss her. </p><p class="fontbae">“Yeah, that’s right. And you know what that means, don’t you?”</p><p class="fontbae">She looks at him through her fringe, shaking her head.</p><p class="fontbae">“It means,” he gets closer and puts his hands on her bulging waist. “That you worked hard, and now we’re going to have the healthiest, happiest child ever. That’s why people stare,” he whispers. “Because they’re jealous.” </p><p class="fontbae">“They’re jealous I’m fat?” she asks and smiles when he nods. “Then I’ll get even fatter!” </p><p class="fontbae">He giggles and kisses her again.</p><p class="fontbae">When they first met, he’d thought Minjung was the most gorgeous and elegant woman in the world—and completely out of his league. He’d asked her out on a friend’s encouragement. He’d taken her on dates knowing she would eventually move on from him. He'd done his best, presented all his most ideal parts to her for appraisal. But she was so accepting. She took all of him and embraced it with unrivaled adoration. He felt like a king when she laughed at his jokes, when she blushed every time she said his name, when she whimpered against his nose as he kissed her the first time. He felt like he was living his wildest fantasy when she said yes to marrying him. Even in her shyness, she had asked for him to love her as completely as she loved him. </p><p class="fontbae">She swims past him in a slow backstroke and waves playfully. He motions for her to watch her head.</p><p class="fontbae">If Minjung were a man, and if Jinki were a woman, would they still love each other as much? Would they even be together? He imagines them like that, a tall and charming man courting a bored and ill-tempered woman. He imagines them falling apart at the very mention of children. He imagines Minjung trying to reach a compromise and Jinki remaining adamantly against it. He imagines Minjung finding someone else, someone willing to try and meet in the middle, someone who chooses them being together over selfish pursuits.</p><p class="fontbae">It makes him feel oddly proud and defensive at the same time. In a tribal sense, he has won Minjung. He has managed to hold her interest so far, and even gotten her to agree to start a family with him. There must be something very special about him. But if he were being realistic, he knows that Minjung is only with him because of the ocean of love within her. She has deemed it fit to bestow him with some of that love, she has seen something worth cherishing about him. They are together because of her kindness, her benevolence.</p><p class="fontbae">But does she love him enough to not be scandalised by his recent interests? </p><p class="fontbae">It isn’t that he thinks all those videos are sexy. To him, it’s surprising that someone would express themselves like that, clad in leather and slashing whips, with rubber toys and humiliating talk. He knows people have their tastes, and he suspects some of his own friends may be that adventurous. But even the softer videos aren’t as exciting as the things he used to like watching as a college student. Perhaps that is his limitation—he has barely any experience with exploring the boundaries of his sexuality. </p><p class="fontbae">And that makes him curious. He wants to understand if those men have had the thoughts he has. He wants to know if he will find an answer in doing something like that.</p><p class="fontbae">“OK, first off—what the fuck,” Taemin says. He is the only person Jinki trusts with the information. “Second, you can’t even buy things like… those rubber things here. Whatever they’re called. Or any of that leather mask stuff.”</p><p class="fontbae">“I’m sure they’re smuggled in,” Jinki points out. “By the way, I watched a documentary about the manufacturing of sex toys the other day. You won’t believe it when I tell you! Turns out, they’re made in P—” </p><p class="fontbae">“Yes, that’s awesome, good job learning another useless piece of information,” Taemin brushes him away. “So what do you want from me?”</p><p class="fontbae">“An opinion?” </p><p class="fontbae">“I told you: what the fuck. That’s my opinion,” Taemin swigs his beer and orders anju for their table. “You’ve not told Minjunggie yet, obviously,” he tests after a while.</p><p class="fontbae">“Obviously,” Jinki agrees. </p><p class="fontbae">“Why do you want this?”</p><p class="fontbae">Jinki gives a mirthless laugh, suddenly feeling the fatigue of countless cold showers hit him in that moment. “Where do you want me to start?”</p><p> </p>
<hr class="hr4"/><p> </p><p class="fontbae">“O-oppa…” Minjung waddles out of the study one Sunday afternoon. Her face is drawn. Her gaze is piercing. Her voice is low. “Oppa,” she repeats and says nothing else.</p><p class="fontbae">Jinki looks up from a book and pulls off his glasses to rest them on his head. “Hmm? What’s the matter—?” he begins asking but her expression answers for her. He has been dreading being found out, but the shame that settles over him is like nothing he has ever felt before. His curiosity, his fascination with the eccentric world of pegging only now seems utterly stupid to him. <em> How unimportant</em>, he realises when he notices how she looks at him. <em> So you’re horny. How fucking inconsequential, Lee Jinki.</em></p><p class="fontbae">He gulps and returns her gaze silently for a moment before trying to explain. “Listen, jagi—”</p><p class="fontbae">“Oppa has been… very lonely these days,” she says before he can continue. “This one and I have each other to talk to,” she caresses her stomach, smiles lovingly at it. “But oppa,” she looks back up at him. “I know oppa feels left out. And I know it's tiring to take care of me, so—”</p><p class="fontbae">He shakes his head. “No,” he refuses vehemently. “No, don’t try to make me feel guilty about that. I do all that because I love you. Don’t talk like that.” He stands and approaches but doesn’t try to touch her. “I love you, you know this.”</p><p class="fontbae">“Oppa,” she says again, pleading. </p><p class="fontbae">“I mean,” he continues with disbelief. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I’m with a woman like you,” he gestures to her and gives a little laugh despite himself. “I still can’t believe it. Fuck, you’re having my <b>child</b>. How amazing is that?” he says with wonder. </p><p class="fontbae">She shakes her head in complaint. “Don’t change the subject.”</p><p class="fontbae">He sighs. “Jagi, this isn’t about… this isn’t about what you and I have,” he clarifies, taking a step closer, finally taking her hand in his. “I’m not having second thoughts, OK? Don’t even think like that. This isn’t about that.”</p><p class="fontbae">She slowly pulls him in by his shirt, sniffling and hugging him and swaying in place for a minute. “Then tell me what it is.”</p><p class="fontbae">He relaxes in her hold, his arms tightening for a moment out of habit before remembering her girth. “You want to know?” </p><p class="fontbae">“I want to know everything,” she makes her teary demand.  </p><p class="fontbae">His mother-in-law visits for the week, raining praises on Jinki and constantly doting on Minjung. She cooks a large pot of pumpkin soup and replenishes the side-dishes in their fridge. She brings out an old photo album and shares embarrassing stories about Minseok from when he was a little boy, making them laugh and melting some of Jinki’s tension.</p><p class="fontbae">“You know, in the old days, they would thank the gods for a healthy newborn. So if you have a son, I’ll go on the Seoseomun pilgrimage,” she claps her hands together. “And if you have a daughter, I’ll go on the Wonhyo route!” she chuckles. </p><p class="fontbae">“Wah, jangmonim!” Jinki says with surprise. “That’s a very difficult trail. Will you be alright?”</p><p class="fontbae">“Of course!” she insists. “They say in some cultures that a daughter being born in the house means the goddess has come to bless the family with wealth and good fortune,” she speaks in a conspiratorial tone, her grin wide. “So I am hoping for a grand-daughter!” she waves crossed fingers.</p><p class="fontbae">“Ay, I told you we’re having a son,” Minjung giggles at her mother. </p><p class="fontbae">“How can you tell? Wasn’t your conception dream something strange? Like… birds sitting on a zelkova branch or something?” Choi eomoni points out. </p><p class="fontbae">Minjung’s own trepidation seems to disappear at the end of the visit. He haltingly explains himself to her when they’re in bed, whispering his words against her ear and playing with the thin cloth of her gown. He tries to give form to his feelings, tries to give them a human shape after spending weeks being convinced they came from some animal part of him. He tells her, but clarifies he doesn’t expect anything from her in return.</p><p class="fontbae">“Hmm… but when oppa isn’t happy,” she strokes his back. “I’m not happy.”</p><p class="fontbae">He smiles and presses his lips to her temple.</p><p> </p>
<hr class="hr4"/><p> </p><p class="fontbae">When he opens his eyes he knows he isn’t awake.</p><p class="fontbae">Minjung kneels between his legs, her breasts heavy and her womb bursting. A prominent phallus stands between her own legs, rising to closely follow the curve of her belly. Her six arms hold scythes and shields and bows and the spoils of war. She wears nothing but a crown of gold and an all-knowing smile, moonlight passing through her as if she were barely there. She looks burnished, made of something other than flesh and blood. She looks like a large warrior, come to stake her claim on him. </p><p class="fontbae">He doesn’t feel afraid. He feels prepared. </p><p class="fontbae">When she enters him, when she grips him by his arms and jaw, when she tastes from his neck; when she carries him and burrows into him and folds him in half and bends him to her will. When she destroys him to put him back together, she is not Minjung. When she silently liberates him from himself, when she cuts open his disquiet and places her sympathy in its place, she is not Minjung. When she makes him hers, like the hundreds of times he has made her his, she is not Minjung. When she fills him up until he mirrors her form, his midriff engorged and his insides alive, she is not Minjung. She is a goddess. She is an otherworldly entity who has found him and taken him. Taken his senses captive. She is a divine woman who has loved him, shown him his own world through her eyes. When she is so glorious and powerful before him, she is not Minjung. </p><p class="fontbae">Or perhaps she is, he can’t be certain anymore.</p><p class="fontbae">But he is still Jinki. He accepts it. Accepts her. He still gives himself away like she has given herself away. They exchange one another. They barter their love and their heart and their every breath because it isn’t that he finds her irresistible. It isn’t some kind of hormonal rush. It isn’t the thought of halving her with another. It isn’t as simple as that. Jinki has realised now, that he cannot live without her. He is incapable of it. This is what makes him crazy. This is what drives him wild. At the core of everything he has been carrying in his chest all these long months, is that. </p><p class="fontbae">She lets him truly wake then, sending him the sunlight of his newly-formed knowledge and setting his world aright. </p><p class="fontbae">He jolts off the mattress to find he has ruined his clothes, then collapses back with a tired whine. The sound of the shower comes to him and tugs, asking him to find it. Find her. So he slowly rolls off the side and ambles to the bathroom. </p><p class="fontbae">Once again, he does not know where the dream has ended and where reality has started. Minjung looks as god-like without the extra arms and power. Even with her elliptical front and her bent back, she is a sight to behold. </p><p class="fontbae">He sighs and leans his hip against the basin, waiting for her to notice. She does, and she smiles, drawing a heart on the foggy glass panel and giggling.</p><p class="fontbae">“Join you?” he asks and slips his shirt off without waiting for a response.</p><p class="fontbae">The water is warm, just the temperature he likes. It rolls off her body in diamond rivulets and he wants to drink every single one. He wants to taste the damp of her skin, kiss the gooseflesh away. He wants to touch every part of her, tell each one how much he misses it. He wants to sink his tongue into her warmth, press it against all her buttons and hold it there for hours. Instead he places his mouth to her collarbone and hums appreciatively as she touches the small of his back and squeezes his hardness between them.</p><p class="fontbae">“Should I make oppa feel good?” she offers.</p><p class="fontbae">He considers refusing like he always has. But the look in her eyes is yearning for him to say yes.</p><p> </p>
<hr class="hr4"/><p> </p><p class="fontbae">Their life centres around food. </p><p class="fontbae">They’ve always eaten a lot, and without second thought. They’ve always been like that, the two of them. But now everything has to be carefully picked and measured. Now he reads the nutrition label on the back of every can, every packet, every box. The jar of coffee they bought from a trip to Ethiopia has been hidden away so they can’t give in to their cravings. He fills the fridge up each week with suggestions from parenting books, and his mother often drops in with large containers of walnuts and almonds, feeding Minjung seaweed soup and giving her advice. </p><p class="fontbae">“You should start thinking about names,” Lee eomoni says one afternoon as she’s kneading dough for kimchi sujebi—Minjung’s latest request. “How about… Jinju? Eh? From both your names?” she points at them with excited eyes.</p><p class="fontbae">“Eomma. What kind of name is ‘pearl’ eh?” Jinki asks with exasperation. “That’s not fashionable at all!”</p><p class="fontbae">“What does fashion have to do with names?!” she argues. </p><p class="fontbae">“Ah, is that something to ask? Fashion is everything these days with kids!” Jinki gestures wildly, and they continue their childish bickering for a while. If Minjung and her mother are like sisters, Jinki and his eomma are best friends. They see each other often enough these days that their relationship has morphed into one of two lifelong buddies who argue over silly things. </p><p class="fontbae">“Hmm, I like it,” Minjung pipes up during a lull in the debate, then looks down at her stomach. “But… maybe this one doesn’t.”</p><p class="fontbae">“Oh, that’s right! We should ask the little one!” Lee eomoni grins and walks over with flour-covered hands, sitting down beside her daughter-in-law and leaning towards her belly. “Our pretty child… what should we call you~?” she coos, and it makes Minjung laugh. </p><p class="fontbae">Jinki watches them from where he sits, admiring the view. For a few minutes he wonders what he ever did to deserve so much happiness. For a few minutes his vision blurs a little in the corners like he is in another dream. Like none of this is real.</p>
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